


The Truths I Cannot Tell

by thelogicalghost



Category: The A-Team (TV)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Mentions of Mental Illness, Mentions of drugs, One Shot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Team Dynamics, Trauma, choose not to use warnings due to general DARK there is no noncon/underage/graphicness here, dark but not graphic, mentions of eating disorders, mentions of torture and violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 12:48:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17746181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelogicalghost/pseuds/thelogicalghost
Summary: These four men were closer than family. They hid their less heroic moments, their secrets and weaknesses, better than they hid themselves. She'd been with them for nearly two years, watching and learning, and took their secrets to her grave. These are the unpublished notes of Amy Amanda Allen.





	The Truths I Cannot Tell

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the first draft of this years ago when I first found and marathoned the original series. When I rediscovered it recently, I decided I liked it enough to polish it and post it since it's not like this fandom's getting any more or less dead. I swear I'm working on more Marvel stuff.
> 
> If you've only seen the 2010 movie you're going to be a bit confused because this is very definitely TV-verse. I loved the movie, but it didn't spark me like the series did.

* * *

 

_FORWARD_

_Before my mother, Amy Amanda Sinclair ne Allen, passed away, she gave me a key to a storage unit and told me I could do whatever I liked with the contents once she was gone. I think she gave it to me because, as a child, I was the most fascinated by her stories of her wilder days, especially her twenty months with the military fugitives known as the “A-Team.” The storage unit turned out to be filled with mementos of her life as a reporter and adventurer, and I hope I’ve honored her memory in my treatment of its contents._

_Of all the paraphernalia I found, one manuscript caught my attention above all else. I know she could never have published this in her lifetime, even long after the death of the A-Team’s members, but I also know she didn’t want it to remain secret forever._

_I’m publishing it now, in honor of the memory of my mother, of Colonel Hannibal Smith, of Captain HM Murdock, of Lieutenant Templeton Peck, and of Sergeant Bosco Albert Baracus – the world misses you more than you know._

 

* * *

 

 

0.

I helped craft their reputation as heroes, and that was important, at the time. I left out so many little details that could be used against them. There were so many things no one knew but them, things I glimpsed but never recorded, never spoke of, never shared. I thought I would take them to my grave, but now, so many years later, I feel they need to be said. Or perhaps, they need to be heard.

 

1.

They all had scars. Not just one, or a few, but dozens, painted across their bodies in ugly contours. Older ones faded under newer wounds, and almost all of them had that twisted look of injuries that had never been treated quite well enough.

They weren’t proud of their scars, the way some soldiers are. Face didn’t like anything that made him identifiable despite a disguise. B.A. didn’t like that they scared off children. Murdock didn’t even acknowledge their existence at times.

When I worked up the courage to ask Hannibal, he said, “A scar is a reminder that you’ve survived a terrible thing, and that’s nobody’s business but your own.”

I have only one scar that hasn’t faded from my time with them: a pale line below my navel where a seatbelt cut into me during a car crash. I have only the one, because they took the others for me.

They refused to let me apologize or thank them.

 

2.

B.A. could function on a plane when absolutely necessary, but when he did, he wasn’t B.A. The tough-attitude fighter retreated somewhere deep inside, and all anyone could see was a quiet rock of a soldier who took orders silently, tense but functional, until his feet once again touched the ground.

I think Hannibal, Murdock, and Face were the only people he trusted not to take advantage of him in that state. I don’t know how they earned that trust, but I know that’s why he cared so much about them.

 

3.

When the role called for it, Face was a perfect gentleman with a lady. When the role called for it, he could be controlling, demanding, dominating, submissive, top or bottom, sadist or masochist, straight, gay, both, all or nothing.

We flirted a bit, even kissed once, but I didn’t want to be another notch and he respected that. I was grateful, because I don’t think any woman could truly resist him when he dialed his charm up to eleven. Few men could resist, either.

He was never ashamed, and none of the others seemed the least bit uncomfortable. There were times I wished I could write about it, to prove there was nothing wrong with anything he did, but I couldn’t.

Their image was essential to their survival.

 

4.

There were times when Murdock truly wasn’t in his right mind.

It would never happen during a mission or when he was flying or driving. He was too tightly controlled to let his episodes endanger anyone. Often they were so short I didn’t even realize what had happened: a few minutes of quiet words from Face or Hannibal would bring him back to himself. On rare occasions, that wasn’t enough.

At first they shut me out of those moments. It took a while to convince Murdock that I didn’t think less of him, and convince the rest of the team that I would never use those times against him, that I genuinely wanted to help.

The ones I saw were flashbacks, I think, because he kept muttering to himself, alternating between fearful English and harsh Vietnamese, whispering how they were going to escape, they’d never escape, they’d make it, they’d die, it’d end one way or another.

He never begged. Sometimes he’d struggle, and B.A. would hold him down.

 

5.

The team made a lot of money, but they spent almost none of it on themselves. Face let me help with the finances sometimes. I saw where it went.

Hannibal gave to homeless shelters. Face gave to churches and orphanages. B.A. gave to youth centers. Murdock gave to a dozen different good causes that seemed random but were all carefully researched and hand-picked. They all gave to wounded vets, to widows and orphans, to memorial funds.

They invested money in the businesses and people they saved and helped, and those investments paid back, not big but reliably. A lawyer in New York who didn’t know their real identity managed their portfolio and their holdings.

Sure, Face had his suits and fancy cars, B.A. had his van and his chains, Hannibal his cigars, Murdock his latest interest. And some of their missions ran up impressive bills. Still, they managed to give away more than they spent, and they did it silently and anonymously.

 

6.

Hannibal always said long term relationships were too risky on the run, but he’d go on dates all of a sudden, never mentioning who they were with or why. Eventually curiosity got the better of me, and I tailed him on one of those nights.

I didn’t recognize the woman. They had a nice dinner at an upscale restaurant and went to the movies. They walked a bit along the pier, talking softly, for about ten minutes, and then he handed her an envelope and put her in a cab, paying the driver in advance.

The next morning he stole the film out of my camera before I even realized he knew I’d followed him.

“I just wanted to know who she was,” I explained after apologizing. “I only took a picture to look her up. I didn’t take anything compromising. You know I’d never do that.”

He considered me carefully, as though I had become a new mission, and then handed me, not my film, but a magazine. It didn’t take long for me to find a picture of his date, and my surprise must have registered on my face.

“It’s never the same girl, so don’t bother looking her up,” he told me. “Never the same escort service. It’s not safe for us to show too much interest in anyone. You’ve learned by now how the people we care about tend to get hurt.”

I still didn’t understand. “The way you took her out, the way you treated her...”

The corner of his mouth curled upward. “Sometimes, it’s nice to pretend that what you’re pretending is real.”

He was far from a shining beacon of gentlemanly conduct, but I know he was trying to be good, in his own muddled way.

 

7.

They all had nightmares.

They all had nights when they couldn’t sleep.

They all had mornings where they would wash away tear tracks on their faces and no one would say a word.

 

8.

This is what they taught me: I can shoot a gun to wound or kill. I know what forensic evidence can be found and how to avoid leaving it behind. I can jimmy a simple lock or handcuffs. I know how to become someone else. I can ask for help or directions in six languages. I know where the friendly embassies are in a dozen countries. I can defend myself against a man twice my size. I know my Miranda rights by heart and their equivalent for civilians arrested by the military. I can spot and shake a tail and tail someone without being spotted. I know how long it takes to trace a phone call. I can treat injuries in the field. I know how to disappear.

 

9.

There was a bag of medications in a hidden compartment in the van. They went wherever the team went, always stashed with the supplies no matter what.

About half were Murdock’s prescriptions. I don’t know what they did, because when we lost them, not taking them didn’t appear to affect him, but once he got back to the VA he would refuse visitors for a week or two.

Sometimes Face would only pretend he was eating, or refuse to eat entirely. Murdock would talk to him, quietly, and give him a few unlabeled pills. Within a few days he’d be, by all appearances, back to normal.

Some of the pills were for Hannibal, and they were common enough that I recognized the labels: standard prescriptions for the kind of problems that affect an older man who’s hard on his body. B.A. made absolutely sure he took them on schedule.

Sometimes there were also pain pills, or other first aid supplies, but those were usually used up so quickly it was risky to rely on them.

 

10.

Hannibal’s true gift was not disguise. It was trust.

At first I thought he was too hard on Face, asking for too many miracles in too little time. Eventually I realized that what he was really saying was: I know you’ll only do the bare minimum, I know you can do better, and I know that when you know it, too, you’ll be proud of what you can do.

At first I thought he was too quiet with B.A., giving only a few orders and mostly giving silent approval to the sergeant’s scare tactics. Eventually I realized that what he was really saying was: I know you’re not stupid, I know you’re not as stupid as people think you are, I know you can control yourself and do exactly what you need to do, and I know that you’ll try all the harder to make me proud because I didn’t give an order.

At first I thought he was too easy on Murdock, encouraging his insanity and rarely curbing dangerous antics. Eventually I realized that what he was really saying was: I know you’re doing what you have to do to cope, I know that criticism only provokes you, and I know that when we need you your head will be clear.

And every time he took a moment to explain things to me that everyone else already knew, or shared a tidbit about the team with a twinkle in his eye, I knew what he was saying was: I know you’re part of this team, I know you’ll push for answers if you feel we’re blocking you out, and I know you’d never give us up.

 

11.

Once, and only once, I watched them torture a man for information.

It was the only way to save innocent lives, and he deserved it. That didn’t stop me from having nightmares about it.

 

12.

A couple of times I got to see Murdock in what Face called his “game face.” Things were serious, Face warned me, when Murdock started acting sane.

Things were serious. Murdock got us both out, alive and unharmed, and I’m still not quite sure how he did it.

When I worked up the courage to ask him about it, he told me, “Sometimes in war you gotta be somebody you don’t like. Somebody who can do awful things. I don’t like being him, but he gets things done.”

At the time, I hugged him and assured him that I did like him, crazy or sane. It was only a long time afterwards, when I found out more about his time in the CIA, that I wondered what he really meant when he said that, if maybe the real reason for all the voices and personas and insanity was because he’d rather be anyone other than the person who’d done what he did.

I think Hannibal knew that, and I think that’s why he never admonished Murdock for any of his antics. Hannibal understood, and he let Murdock be whoever he wanted to be.

 

13.

Avoiding murder was less about morals and more about the team’s safety. Most local law enforcement wouldn’t bother looking into a bunch of guys threatening criminals or exposing dirty schemes, but a string of murders would be difficult to ignore.

Sometimes, though, the team ran up against marks who just couldn’t be threatened, exposed, or tricked. There were cases where someone just needed to disappear.

There were two ways it could happen. “Accidents” were difficult to set up, and I was usually kept far away from them, for my own protection. Then I would only learn what happened if it was big enough to make the news.

On “vacations,” I got to help. I would go with Murdock or Face to the target’s home where we would find a suitcase or two and fill it with clothes and other travel essentials, shred or burn important papers, and collect any cash or small valuables that could easily be sold or bartered. Anyone who came looking would think the mark had left the country in a hurry.

I don’t know what they did with the suitcase, or the mark, and I never asked.

 

14.

The team saw every single Aquamaniac movie properly, in theaters, popcorn and all.

 

15.

B.A. had a story for each and every one of his chains. He told me all of them, once, but there were too many to remember, and I didn’t dare write them down.

Each individual piece of jewelry commemorated something, good or bad, that made him who he was. He said the weight of them held down his rage and held back his fists, and the soft clinks reminded him what was really important in his life.

After that, I never saw them as gold. I saw them as people: dead soldiers in a jungle, an absent father, a child saved, a loving mother, friends lost and earned.

I bought him a chain as a Christmas present. When he put it on, I felt a kind of honor to be included there, alongside those people who had managed to touch his heart.

 

16.

They never got truly drunk, since they never knew when they might need to run, but there were a few nights when Hannibal would open a bottle of something strong and we’d mix a little into seltzer, juice, or soda, letting the pleasant buzz of tipsiness loosen our tongues.

One of those nights was when Face admitted that “Templeton” was, yes, really, a reference to _Charlotte’s Web_. “Peck” was from a very old children’s book that had been in the orphanage, _Peck’s Bad_ _Boy and his Pa_. Apparently the term “Peck’s Bad Boy” had been, at one time, slang for someone incorrigibly disobedient.

 

17.

I didn’t come to the trial.

I know they understood why.

I fear they never really forgave me.

 

18.

We were in some tiny island country, someplace without extradition, chasing a bad man with a lot of money and no scruples. His wife was no angel, but next to him even she looked like Mother Teresa, and she’d agreed to help us if we helped her escape him.

The plan had seemingly gone off without a hitch. Then the client, the wife’s brother, came running into the warehouse where the local police were cuffing the mark.

She hadn’t come to the agreed meeting place, he’d said in breathless, gasping Spanish, translated for me afterward. He’d demanded to know where she was.

The mark had laughed and replied, and I don’t know what he said but suddenly the police were shouting into their radios and we were running back to the car. B.A. pushed that vehicle to its limits, but she’d been beyond saving before he even turned the ignition.

We split up to search the mark’s beach house. I remember Face shouting something I didn’t quite catch, and I started to run over to him, and then suddenly Murdock was in front of me, not grabbing me but stopping me all the same, his arms gently circling my shoulders.

I know he was talking, letting words bubble and flow over me in a calming stream, but I don’t remember most of what he said, except when he kept telling me, “No one wants to be seen like that, no one wants to be remembered like that.”

We didn’t stay for the funeral, but I know the team paid the bill. Several months later Hannibal told me that the mark had been shot and killed attempting to escape custody. There was something hard in his eyes when he said it. I didn’t ask, because I didn’t want to know.

 

19.

It took me a while to realize that most of the nurses and orderlies were well aware of the truth behind Murdock’s escapades. He and Face maintained a careful balancing act, giving them all plausible deniability without placing anyone’s health or careers in danger. They also did a few favors of the kind only the A-Team could pull off, and that gratitude kept everyone’s lips sealed when the military came asking questions.

Also, a nurse admitted to me, their “escapes” were more entertaining than anything on the television.

 

20.

I asked the team, once, if they ever wanted their story to be told. Not just the story that cleared their names, the truth that would give them peace, but their whole story, the story of a team of men who could have been halfway around the world but stayed a fought for justice in a country that continued to betray them.

After they finished laughing, Hannibal said, “There’s no ‘right’ story, you know. To the people we help, maybe we’re heroes. To the people we’ve hurt – and not all of them are bad people – we’re villains. Stories get told and retold, exaggerated, embellished, and so on. No one really cares about the truth.”

“My job is the truth,” I argued.

“Your job is to report facts,” Hannibal corrected. “And you pick the ones that sell the story you’re telling.”

I wish I could show him this list of facts, and ask him what story they tell. I wish I could tell it to the world.

 


End file.
